(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) THE OSSINCTON MYSTERY.

Kaipara and Waitemata Echo, 5 June 1914, Page 7

(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) THE OSSINCTON MYSTERY.

By Hedley Richards, Author of "The Millionaire's Last Will," "The Day of Reckoning," etc., etc.

PART 1». CHAPTER XV.—(Continued.) Then Mason put the window up, and as the coach rolled away, the last thing I saw was the pale, hor-ror-stricken face of the beautiful girl. "She has not acted like any one ?uilty," I thought, as I returned to the cottage ; and had the proofs been •ess strong, I should have been in:lined to think I had made a mistake. But it was a clear case of circumstantial evidence. One thing, however, puzzled me. rhere had been no surprise expressme appearing in the character >?' a detective. But I concluded that 'ie grave charge I made had over- • -wered all other thoughts. On entering the kitchen again, I 'r-rnd Mrs. Hirst seated in a chair, ■•ocking herself to and fro convulsively, with her head buried in her lands. On hearing my step she lookid round. "You're a nice man, to come here galling yourself a hartist, and poking, and trying to see who you could make out had murdered tfafe young lord ! Mary was right. She said you were no hartist, and she said as she'd a good guess who you were ; but she wouldn't say, but told me bo hold my tongue when you came." So the girl had suspected my motives in hanging about. "Why couldn't yoa have fitted it on some one else ? There's plenty of tramps as would never be missed, and they'd have served jou well snough. All you want is to say you're done your job. I s'post the marquis will give you a reward for it. Oh, Mary, Mary," groaned her mother, "I've been real hard on you since the folks made light of your name. And to think it's ended like this !My baipn, my bairn !" and she sobbed aloud. All at once she sprang to her feet. "Will they bang her ?" she cried, in an agony of terror. "Not if she can prove her innocence," I said, soothingly. "But, my good womaa, let me search your house before your husband returns. Then you can tell him the trouble gently, and he may think of a way to- help your daughter." "Eh, she'll want a lawyer ?" "Yes ; but now it will be better for you to be alone when jour good man comes in, so I will begin my search at once." \ "What are you going to look for?" "Never mind, but sit quiet, and my work will soon be over. Have you any places locked up ?" "None but one of the drawers in the parlour, where I keep "my best linen ; and I think Mary, poor lass, ' has one in her bed room." I began by examining a gun in the kitchen, but it could not have fired the bullet which killed Lord Bewley. Then I lotoked in the cupboards and draweuß. I next searched the cellar, but found no weapon ; and after having examined every nook and «orner downstairs, I wont to the girl's bed room. Her mother followed, and at my request looked for the key of the drawer, which she found' in Mary's afternoon dress pocket. "Now, nay good woman, leave me alone, and I shall soon have done," I said, not wishing to have her ther© while I searched the girl's chest of drawers. Reluctantly, but as though afraid of vexing me, she went downstairs. Opening the first drawer, I found it contained articles of clothing. I looked to see if anything was hidden under them, but there was nothing. The next drawer was filled in the saroe manner ; the bottom one was locked. Taking the key I unlocked it, and found it contained lettert, trinkets, a small but expensive "writing-case, some beautiful lace, and a couple of photographs. *of herself and Lord Bewley, similar to those I had found in his desk). The letters I found were from his lordship, those bearing, the earliest dates being »full of expressions of fervent love, and arranging, times and places to meet. Then came some pleading that she wouJd leave home and place herself under his protection, in which case he promised always to be faithful to her, but "' arguing "'that he feared his father A /aid be estranged from him if be her. I had found her replies in his desk at the Hall. At last I came to a letter arranging that the marriage should take place at York, but stipulating it should be kept secret. Then after their return they became eooler in tone, and from the date of big acquaintance with Miss Blanche Latimer, it was easy to see that he was restive under the tie wh&ch bound hirh to his humble wife, and woufd have gladly broken it. When I bjad done reading them I tied them in a bundle, and my sympathy for the unfortunate girl and my contempt for the young lord were considerably Increased. I next examined the trinkets. Some were cheap articles of finery, others expensive jewellery—amongst them being a broooh and a Pair of bracelets, which I could easily guess had been a gift from the young nobleman. Lifting up a case, I found it containted a splendid necklet. I next opened a small tortoisestoell-box, and in it saw two keys tied together. I tried to fit one of these in the writtag desk, and easily unlocked it.

'mere was the usual assortment of paper, &c, and, looking at it, I felt sure it was the same kind as that on which the letters found in the tree had been written. At the very bottom lay an envelope, which, evidently contained something. It was unfastened, and opening it I found it contained the poor girl's marriage lines. I placed them in the envelope again, securing it and the letters, photographs, and jewellery. I put them in the desk and locked it ; then, fastening the drawer, I began considering where the other keys oould fit. The two small drawers at the top of the chtest were unlocked, and contained collars, and other little odds and ends. I began to wonder what this other key could be for, when my eye caught sight of a tin trunk in a corner near the bed-head. It was fastened with a padlock. I tried the key and found it fitted, and in a moment I lifted the lid. In the trunk lay two or three hjandsome 1 dresses, such as Mary Hirst could never have worn in her own home. I knew at once .they had been used on the honeymoon trip, and afterwards stowed away. Lifting them out, I looked underneath, but the box contained nothing else. I put them in again, and locked the box. "I wonder if her mother knows of those dresses ?" I doubted it, being inclined to think she was ignorant of her daughter's [marriage and all else.. Next I proceeded to examine if any weapon was hidden between the mattress and the bedstead ; but my' search was in vain. Taking the deck and the keys of the drawer and trunk, I descended thje stairs and entered the kitchen. Mrs. Hirst was sobbing by the fireside. She looked up when I entered. "You have found not&ing as will tell against her, I'm sure," she said, breathlessly. "You are right—l have not ; and, If I were you, I'd try and brighten up a bit before your husband comes in." "I wish I hadn't been so hi'ard on the poor bairn ; but when folks were talking about her, it angered me. But, as sure as I'm born, he's done her more harm than she's done him. Why did he come hanging round after •her, instead of leaving her to an honest lad of her own sort ?" It was a question I was unable to answer ;so bidding her hope for the best, I left the cottage. CHAPTER XVI. COMMITTED FOR TRIAL. Crossing the dene, I soon reached j the Hall, and in a few minutes I was \ shown into the library. The marquis | looked inquiringly at me as he wish- j ed me good morning, and invited me j to take a seat. "You did not expect to see me so soon again, my lord ?" "I scarcely thought you would have anything to tell me just jet," he said, hastily. "Surely you have not found out anything implicating Lady Alfred Neville ?" "I have not, my lord ; but I have this morning arrested a person against whom the evidence is very strong." He started violently. "Who is it ?" he asked quickly. "My lord, I have some painful things to say—some disclosures to make which will surprise and trouble you much." "Let me hear them quickly," said he, in a tone of command. "Have you ever heard of Mary Hirst, the daughter of your woodman ?" "No. What of her ?" he asked, in surprise. "Your son made violent love to her, endeavouring to persuade her to leave home and live under his care. She refused to do this, in spite of his entreaties ; so unwilling to give her up" Here I paused and looked at the marquis, who was listening attentively. "Go on, sir," said the marquis, firmly. "He married her." "What !" and his lordship sprang to his feet, looking at me as if he thought I must be mad. "He married her." "Where and when ?" he inquired, in a tone of excitement. "At York, a year last September. This is the certificate of their marriage ;" and I handed it to him. He looked at it curiously. "There are a few inaccuracies, but it is quite legal," I observed. He laid It down on the table, and fixing his eyes on me, said : "You have more to tell me ?" "I have, my lord. After spending a short time together in the neighbourhood of York, Mary Hirst, as I will still call her, returned home, the marriage being kept secret, at your son's request. Soon he began to regret what he had done ; and after Miss Blanche Latimer came into the neighbourhood, the tie galled him terribly, and in spite of his marriage he paid that young lady great attentions. This iuritated his wife, a nd sfte remonstrated with him by letter, using threats to intimidate ; but he would not be deterred. Now, my lord the night he was shot Ma-ry Hirst was in the dene—of that I have clear proof—and that she had pleaded for a meeting, threatened btm with dire vengeance if he did not meet her— which he failed to do. I have also found in her possession something which your son had on him at the time he was murdered." "What was it ?" asked the marquis, hoarsely. "A photograph of Mies Blanche Latimer, which she gave him at his urgent request just before he left her on the night of the murder." "Is she certain it was given then, Mr. Brown ?" he asked. "Quite. That coupled with other

evidence, caused me to arrest M ..ry •' Hirst this morning." "Good heavens ! A woman —and his wife ! It Is horrible ! What kind of a girl is she ?" "My lord, she is a beautiful girl, and, I should judge, is much superior to her position. You will pardon me saying I think that your son treated her badly, and that the little regard he displayed for her feelings almost goaded her to madness. If you will read these letters, you will see for yourself ;" and I laid those I had found in his son's desk and also in the tree before him, bjaving brought them with me on 'purpose. An expression of repugnance came into his face as he looked at the signature ; then apparently forcing himself, he read them through. Laying them down, he sard : "She is a pure-minded girl, a nd'has been shamefully treated. I must in justice say that, even though I condemn my dead son. If he has died by her hand, he did much to bring his fate on himself. Had he spoken to me on the subject I should have advised him not to marrj her— these unequal marriages usually end in misery—but I should also have taken care he did not wrong her. I would have sent her out of his way." "It would have been a difficult matter to leave parted them, my lord." "It would." Then he 9aid in a grave voice : "Do you believe the girl is guilty ?" "I fear the evidence is too strong to doubt it —though I must say she is one of the least likely I have seen to do anything of the sort ; but I fancy she must have been pretty near mad." "What a scandal there will be !" said his lordship, in a tone of deep annoyance. After a minute's silence he said : "Will you or Mr. Newton engage an able lawyer to defend her, please ? If she is oommitted for trial the case had better be placed in a barrister's hands. Do not consider expense." "I will see to it, my lord ; you are very merciful to her." "I am only just. If she killed my , son she will suffer for her crime in proportion as she deserves. I would; give her every chance, knowing she has been badly used." "All shall be done that talent can "do, my lord. And now, if you will excuse me, I should like to reach the Black Bull before Mary Hirst's arrest becomes generally known. I intend going to Troncastle, as I do not wish to become a public character." "Would it not be better for you to stay at the Hall ? It seems to me 3ou wpuld be better on the spot until the case is finished. My housekeeper will be glad to entertain you, and you can have a sitting room for your own use. I hesitated, then decided to accept his krad offer, and in a few minutes I was domiciled in the housekeeper's pleasant sitting room, enjoying a comfortable dinner, while one of the men from the Hall fetched my bag, and paid my bill. After dinner, J took the train to Troncastle, aod, going direct to Mr. Newton, arranged with him to engage a clever lawyer to defend Mary Hirst. He told me the inquiry was fixed for the next morning, and promised to see about a lawyer at once. After leaving him I went to the gaol, and was at once admitted to ! see Mary. As the gaoler openefl. the door she started and turned quickly round. I noticed she was very pale, and her eyes were red and swollen with weeping. j "You wanted to see me?" I said, as soon as we were left alone. "You have made a cruel blunder," she said, in a heartbroken tone. , I did not reply. | "I see you think I am guilty ; but I am not." "You will have a good lawyer to defend you. The marquis has in- ' structed us to engage one on your j behalf." She gasped quickly : I "Ah, then joufcave found out and, I suppose, told him ?" ''I know you were the wife of Lord Bewley, and so does the marquis." "I knew you found my letters," she said, "and fr\>m that time I guessed you were a detective." "Do not admit anything to me ; it may be used against you," I said, quickly. "All I say you may use as you like. And so all the world will know I was his wife. I would have kept his secret when he was dead, as I did when he was living, ; but you have ferreted it out. See, I have always carried it here ;" and she drew from her bosom her wedding-ring, which was attached to a narrow strip of ri't/bon round her neck. Kissing it passionately, she replaced it. I rose to go, and said : "You will see the lawyer, and he will do Ms best for you. ' I advise you to tell him everything." "I shall tell him all I know, and if you want to get at the truth, look ,for a woman—a tall woman, in a long, black cloak, who crossed the further bridge just after the shot was fired." I was thunderstruck, but before I could ireply, she said, quickly : "Thank the marquis for his kindness. It is very good of him, because he may think pie guilty." I made no reply. "Do you know, it is a relief to feel I have no secret to hide. I was always afraid mother would find out I had been married to him, and try to get the marquis to own me : and since he has gone, I felt I would keep it secret, as he wished. It was hard, though, to know what folks were calling me ; and when I guessed you were hunting up all you could about him, I was frightened it would

'".-".^c o"!;. -v-.\ tvyi'M. - f.ie m?.rquis, ] when he'd enough to bear as it was. j But I never thought you would put the murder on me," "Your lawyer will advise you how to act ;" and in another minute I turned to leave her. She called me back. "I am sorry I denied being in the dene the night of the murder. It was a lie, and I suppose will go against me. But I felt so unwilling to let folks know I had been waiting for him, while he had been spending his time with her — and that on the last night of his life. Still, a lie's a lie, and I did wrong to utter it." "Well, tell your lawyer the whole truth." And with these words I left her. "Either Mary Hirst is a born actress, or she is innocent," I thought as I left the prison. Before returning to Ossington, I saw Mr. Newton again, and learned that he had secured the services of Mr. Duval, a very eminent lawyer. When I arrived at the Hall it was evening, and I discovered that the arrest was kinown, and the share I had in it. During the tea-supper, which I took with the housekeeper, I found she was inclined to pity the girl and blame Lord Bewley, saying he had always, from a child, been one who would have his own way, right or wrong. I did not tell her he had married Mary Hirst, though I knew she would soon learn it. It is my practice never to\ disclose anything to uninterested persons, unless by so doing I can gain something. That evening I sew the marquis and Lady Mary for a few moments, and I then told his lordship we had secured the services of a good lawyer. He expressed satisfaction, and Lady Mary showed a kind womanly sympathy for the poor girl, saying from all she had heard of her she did not think she would have done such a deed, unless she was mad at the time of doing it. The next morning when I entered the police-court I saw there was likely to be a full bench, as the magistrates were mustering in force. Sir William Leyland was to conduct the investigations. It had evidently become widely known, the previous evening papers having contained an account of the arrest, and before ten o'clock the court was full. Precisely at the hour Mary Hirst entered in charge of a policeman. She looked deathly white, and under her beautiful eyes were dark rings, telling of a sleepless night. I saw that her beauty made an impression on all present. When charged she pleaded "Not Guilty," and hter voice was clear and distinct. The evidence given at the inquest was repeated, with the difference that Miss Blanche Latimer stated that she gave the photograph I had found in Mary Hirst's possession to Lord Bewley just before he left the Grey House on the night of the murder. While she was giving her evidence, I saw Mary Hirst regarding her with horror and surprise, either genuine or affected. i The evidence of their neighbour, William Bell, who very unwillingly' acknowledged he had seen her runI ning from the dene shortly after the shot was fired, prejudiced her case much;. When I produced the marriagfe certificate I could see every one in court was amazed, and Mary Hirst turned a shade paler. This supplied the motive —jealousy—and completed my case against the prisoner. Her lawyer then stated that his client reserved her defence. After a few minutes' consultation the magistrates committed her for trial at the forthcoming assizes. I knew they were expected to commence early the next week, so that only a short time would elapse before the trial. In the afternoon I returned to the Hall to await the end, the affair being now placed in the hands of the Crown prosecutor. That evening's papers contained a full account of the inquiry, the paragraphs being hteaded : "The Dene Tragedy," "Thrilling Revelations," "Seeret Marriage in High Life," "A Yourig Lord Supposed to be Murdered by his Wife." I could see the marquis writhed under the scandal, while the captain and Lady Mary felt it keenly. The next few days I spent in reading ; it was no use me leaving the North, as it was now known that Mary Hirst's trial would commence the following Friday, just one week from the magistrates' inquiry. As the day drew near, I could see the marquis and the members of his family were nervously anxious, and Captain Neville gave me to understand that they would be glad if the poor girl was found "Not guilty." "You sec, in spite of her position, she bears the name of Neville," he said at the close of a conversation ; and I understood that, apart from humane motives, family pride made them desire her escape. CHAPTER XVII. MORE EVIDENCE. The morning of the trial rose clear and bright, with a tinge of frost in the air. At an early hour the Moot Hall began to fill, and I was disgusted to see what a number of ladies— (as I suppose they considered themselves—were present. When the hour j arrived for the trial to commence, j the place was packed. Directly the judge had taken his seat the prisoner was led in. I had ; not seen her since the inquiry before tbie magistrates, and noticed a terrible alteration in her appearance. She was mueh thinner, and her features, which had always been beautiful, had gained in refinement. Her complexion was dazzhngly white as ever, but in her cheeks there was a feverish flush, and a brilliance in her I

large, blue which told of suppressed excitement. She appeared very 'nervous, and held to the side of the dock in a trembling manner until a seat was provided for her, into which she sank at once. On being charged with the crime, she said, in a clear and loud voice : "Not guilty." The first witness called was the man who had found the body. Then came the doctor's evidence, and thte lawyer for the defence cross-ques-tioned him very closely on the point I as to how long death had taken ! place before the finding of the body. Afterwards the gamekeeper repeated what,he had stated at the inquest. When Miss Blanche Latimer was called, she stepped forward, looking remarkably handsome, and gave her evidence regarding the attentions of the two gentlemen in a cool, calm manner. She was then questioned at length with regard toi the photographs, and on this point her evidence was very decided. She positively stated that only two had passed out of her possession, and the one Lord Bewley had was given to him on the night of the murder. After the counsel for the prosecution had done questioning her, the lawyer for the defence rose. ' "Now, Miss Latimer, did you ever observe any jealousy on Captain Neville's part ?" "Captain Neville has some control of his feelings, and they are not so apparent as his cousin's were." "I understand you encouraged both these gentlemen, played off one against the other, until they thought their chancee were equal, and believed one of them must win. Now, when you refused Captain Neville,did he not express anger against his cousin ?" "I thinkj he showed some annoyance, but it was more with me than his cousin. I believe he said I had used him badly." "He did not express himself violently in regard to Lord Bewley ?" "Certainly not." "You are quite certain you gave Lord Bewley this photograph the last time you saw him ?" and he held it towards her. "I have already said I am certain, sir." "Don't you think it possible you have forgotten the date, and that you gave it him, say, a week before his death ?" "I have not forgotten," she said, firmly, though I notieed her lips twitched nervously. "I should like to remind you that you are on your oath." "I am aware of that," she said, in a cold, stately manner. "You admit they were taken more than a fortnight before the murder, do you not ?" "I do." "Why did you give it to Lord Bewley after refusing his offer of marriage ?" "To get rid of him. He had previously bothered me for one, and when he named it just before leaving, I thought it was less trouble to give 'it than refuse." "I suppose you gave it hkn as a sort of panacea ? You Wave told my learned friend that he put it in the breast-pocket of his coat." "He did." "Was he wearing an overcoat?" "He had not one on when in the room. He may possibly have left it in the hall." "Do you remember what time it was when Captain Neville called ?" "I believe it was about a quarterpast five, but I cannot be certain to a few minutes." "How long did he stay V "I think about fifteen minutes. He may have stayed a little longer." "Then he would leave you about half-past five, or twenty minutes to six ?" "About that time." "Now, how long elapsed after Captain Neville's departure before Lord i Bewley called ?" j "It may have been twenty minutes j after, or it may Wave been half an hour." "How long did he remain ?" "Not more than a quarter of an hour, I think." "Between these two visitors, did any one else call to see you ?" "Yes." "Who was it?" "The prisoner," she said, in a cold, haughty tone. This electrified every oee m court, and all listened eagerly. "Did she beg of you not to encourage Lord Bewley's attentions ?" "I think she said something of the kind." "How did you reply ?" "I asked her what it mattered to her whether Lord Bewley paid me attention jor mot." "In fact, you let her see that you thought her intrusion unwarranted, and th)R.t her interference wae a piece of impudence ?" "I daresay I did. I regarded her conduct in that light." "Did she then tell you sbe was the wife of Lord Bewiey ?" A spasm of pain crossed Miss Latimer's face, but it was momentary. "She did." "Did you believe hter V* "I should think not," she saM, in an accent of scorn. "I knew Lord Bewley was fast, but I did not think he would stoop, to marry a woman so far below him." "Just so. And you let her see your opinion ?" "I told her she need not think she could impose upon me so easily." "How did she act then ?" "She showed me her marriage lines ; but I fail to see how her conversation with me can affect this case," she said, impatiently. "Possibly you do, Miss Latimer. Even ladws with yo«r experience do

not see -everything." She pressed her lips firmly, but did not say anything. "Now, if you please, we will go on with this interesting episode. When you saw the marriage lines, what did you say ?" "I do not remember." "Did you not say : "I never thought he would have been such a fool. Why could he not treat you as other gentlemen treat girls of your class ?' " Her faice became scarlet. "I did not say that. I daresay I expressed surprise, but not in those words." "I think you did use those words. Now, after that kind little speech, did you not tell the prisoner that she was an impudent girl to come near you, and ask her what she thought it could possibly matter to you whether she was his lordship's wife or not ?" "It is probable I did, as I considered she had no right to infer that Lord Bewley's attentions were acceptable to me." "Just so. Then the prisoner drew out this photograph, which she had snatched from her husband's hand a week previously, and she showed it to you, saying, that he had hfcld it in her face, and boasted, if he were only free, he could marry you any day, and she prayed you not to encourage him, but refuse his attentions, that she might have some chance of winning him back ?" Wfc&ile he was speaking, Miss Latimer had grown very pale, but her calmness never desefted her ; and when he paused she said : "It is false." "You deny that she showed you this photograph ?" "I do. It had not then passed out of my hands." "Now, Miss Latimer, on your oath do you deny that the prisoner brought that photograph with her when she called to warn you previously to the murder ?" "I deny it altogethier." "Very well. Now perhaps you will tell me if you informed Lord Bewley of his wife's visit, and all she had confided to you ?" "I did not." "What was your reason for not telling him ?" "He had seen fit to pass as a single man, and I did not choose to /fell him his secret had been forced on me." "Then you positively state that you gave Lord Bewley your photograph after he bad made you an offer of marriage, which offer you knew was an insult ?" "I have said I gave it to get rid of him, partly also because I was sorry for him. I could see he did not love the unfortunate girl to whom he was tied." "How eould you see he did not love his wife ? You say you never named her !" "I knew he loved me. How, then, could he love her ?" And there was a withering scorn in her voice as she alluded to the unhappy prisoner. "Then you wish us to understand that your love for Lord Bewley was so great that you at once overlooked thje insult he had offered you in proposing marriage when he was nol| free, and not only forgave him, but bestowed a gift on him ?" "I have, said I gave the photograph because he bothered me." "On the same principle that you would throw a bone to a barking* cur ?" "I have told you it was to get rid of him," she said, haughtily. "I must now put a delicate question to you. When you refused Captain Neville, was it your intention to accept his lordship, and was it the prisoner's tale which prevented you ?" She^ drew herself proudly. "You catechise me strangely. However, I will say I never dreamed of [accepting either lof them." (To be Continued.)